


The Incident in Saint Paul

by emptycas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Mutual Pining, dumb babies who don't like to share their feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:33:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23306860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptycas/pseuds/emptycas
Summary: “Well, he is my boyfriend...” The words fall out of Cas’s mouth naturally, like a school kid saying the Pledge. “...and I think I’ll get Rob’s Big Double with a side of fries.”The waitress simply smiles down at him. “Of course, darling. I’ll put that order in for y’all and be right back with refills for those coffees."Or the one where Castiel isn't Dean's boyfriend, until he kind of is.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 132





	The Incident in Saint Paul

They were just outside of Saint Paul when it happened. The Bunker was about a ten-hour drive out: too long for the ride to be comfortable, but too short to justify dishing out on a motel. (Even though it’s not technically _their_ money that they would be using, but Castiel has learned to choose his battles.) After one too many tired eyes were taken off the road, Sam made the executive decision to stop and recharge because _There’s no way any of us are making it back to Lebanon without a cup of coffee, Dean._ That’s how Castiel finds himself cramped in a too-small booth, in a too-small diner, staring at a too-long menu that was probably all going to be thrown in the same fryer anyway. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Castiel can see the waitress walk over. The diner is one of those retro joints: one where the waitress’s uniform is a dress and where there’s still an honest to god _milkshake counter._ He dislikes these types of restaurants, but Dean loves them, so they find themselves in red vinyl booths more often than not. _(It’s classic American, Cas. The 1950s weren’t actually a good time, Dean.)_

“How are you boys doing tonight?” The waitress asks once she reaches their booth. Her drawl is different from the thick Minnesota accent they heard while on the hunt. Her delivery is slower and her syllables more drawn out, suggesting southern roots. Castiel glances up as she speaks, eyes finding bright red lipstick and a nametag that reads _Diane_. 

“I’m good,” Dean starts, “but even better now that you’re here, Diane.” He’s flashing his smile that’s reserved for moments like this. It’s not the soft smile Cas receives after telling a joke that wasn’t supposed to be funny, or the proud grin he gets after telling Dean that _Unforgiven_ is Eastwood’s best work. It’s definitely not the rare, full-face _beam_ Dean gives him after he’s had one too many; his guard fallen and staring at Cas simply because he doesn’t need to look away. No, this smile is reserved for girls like Diane in diners like this, so theatrical and calculated that it makes Cas’s skin crawl. 

“Oh, aren’t you a charmer,” Diane tells him with a smile matching Dean’s own. After a few seconds, she tears her eyes away like it’s the hardest thing she’s ever had to do and addresses the whole booth, “Can I get y’all started with something to drink?” 

“I think we’re all getting coffee,” Sam interjects before Dean can say anything. He gives Dean an exasperated look that he probably sees but chooses to ignore. 

This doesn’t stop Diane, though. She quickly retrains her focus on Dean like Sam hadn’t said anything at all. “Is that right, hon? Or is there anything else I can get you?” Diane asks, her tone suggesting that Dean’s drink order isn’t the thing in question. 

“Oh, coffee is good..” Dean leans over the table, trying to get a view that isn’t obstructed by Cas’s head. “..but I can think of a few more things that I need.” He punctuates his sentence with a wink. A _wink_. 

And Castiel isn’t jealous. No, Castiel is an Angel of the Lord and he doesn’t get jealous of southern girls who move to the Midwest and work in twenty-four-hour-diners. He’s won countless battles, saved the world on multiple occasions, and even been resurrected more times than he thought was possible, so any emotion he is feeling right now is probably because he is exhausted from the hunt. 

He does have to force himself to unclench his fists though. 

Diane’s laughter brings him out of his thoughts. “Alright, boys. Just sit tight and I’ll back with your coffee and to take your order.” 

If Dean cranes his neck to watch her saunter away, Castiel does not notice. He pulls the menu closer to him, trying to avoid touching the sticky syrup that hasn’t been cleaned from the lamination. The diner has the typical fare: burgers, shakes, salads, and an overly advertised all-day breakfast. 

“I’m just saying, Dean. I don’t want to be stuck in a car with you for ten hours when you’ve had half a pack of Kraft Singles and enough red meat to feed a family of wolves.” A kick to Castiel’s shin draws his attention away, and judging by Sam and Dean’s current argument, he’s pretty sure it wasn’t meant for him. Sam sends him an apologetic glance, but quickly resumes his stare-off. 

“Oh, that’s funny because I’m pretty sure I remember _someone_ making me stop at the Gas-n-Sip bathroom after they went all out at the freakin’ Whole Foods hot bar.” 

“That was _two_ years ago.” 

“Ok, but I can still smell that broccoli salad. Some things you just can’t forgive, Sammy” 

Castiel is trying so hard to tune the brothers out that he doesn’t even register the waitress coming back with their coffee. She makes a big show of giving Dean his last, bending over the booth when it would have been easier to just slide Dean the drink. Castiel is pretty certain that her lipstick is a little bit brighter than before, and that her apron is tied a bit tighter around her waist. 

“I leave you alone for a minute and you’re already trying to kill each other,” Diane playfully scolds. “Were y’all ready to order?” She pulls out a notepad and a purple pen from her apron, giving the pen a _click_ as she looks at them expectantly. 

Sam goes first, ordering some salad that Cas didn’t even have a chance to look at yet. Dean orders his usual; a bacon cheeseburger with _extra cheese, please._ How he managed that to sound flirtatious, Cas isn’t so sure. When it comes time for Cas to speak, he is still debating the differences between Rob’s Big Double Burger and Rob’s Famous Double Burger, both of which seem to be the same combination of meat, cheese, and bread. 

“I think I require more time,” he tells the waitress earnestly. 

Deans sighs. “C’mon, Cas. Just order what you got to eat yesterday.” 

He imitates Dean’s sigh. “But that was a completely different restaurant with a different menu. I haven’t even gotten a chance to look at the appetizers yet.” 

“Dude, you’re not even gonna order an appetizer. It’s not that hard. Don’t keep the pretty lady waiting.” 

“If it’s not that hard, then you order for me. You’re gonna end up eating most of what I order anyway.” Castiel crosses his arms in defiance, waiting for Dean to argue back. What he doesn’t expect to hear is an audible _Awww_ coming from the woman standing to his right. 

“Well, aren’t y’all just adorable. Fighting like an old married couple and everything,” Diane coos, probably trying to tease Dean more than anything else. 

Castiel isn’t sure what prompted him to say what he did next. He could blame it on the exhaustion; they _had_ been working on the case since six in the morning. Hand to hand combat with a nest of vamps is bound to leave anyone tired. He’s pretty sure the others would understand. He could blame it on Dean and Diane’s whole _Harry Met Sally_ routine. They had a long drive ahead of them and Dean was wasting time flirting with their waitress; Sam would back him up on that one. He could even blame it on the way Dean is currently pressed up against him in the cramped booth. Cas isn’t sure how that defense would go over in court, but the way Dean’s shoulders are aligned with his own is definitely clouding his judgment in some way. Or, he could blame it on all three: claim that they planned an attack and Castiel was left defenseless against his own brain. He would plead _insanity_ if that meant what he says goes unpunished. 

“Well, he is my boyfriend...” The words fall out of Cas’s mouth naturally, like a school kid saying the Pledge. “...and I think I’ll get Rob’s Big Double with a side of fries.” 

Castiel feels the air being sucked out from around him. If he didn’t know better he would think that he’s in danger: somebody came in, froze time itself and now wants to kill him, but he knows that he isn’t that lucky. Castiel is safe in a diner outside of Saint Paul, but the way Dean tenses next to him makes him wish that they _had_ decided to kill themselves making the trip back to Lebanon. 

The words don’t even seem to phase Diane, almost like it’s natural for the man she put on extra lipstick for to also be involved with his best friend. She simply smiles down at him. “Of course, darling. I’ll put that order in for y’all and be right back with refills for those coffees.” With that, she leaves. Despite his previous thoughts, Castiel has never been more jealous of a waitress in a twenty-four-hour diner. Diane is able to come and go from the booth as she pleases, but she always has an excuse to leave when things become too awkward. Castiel has no excuse; he does not need to check on the man sitting at the counter and he does not have to rush to refill coffees. His only obligation is to sit in this booth, and even that is becoming increasingly difficult as he notices Dean attempting to inch away from him. 

As the silence continues to stretch, Castiel becomes re-fascinated with his menu that the waitress failed to collect. He stares at the Tuesday specials like they’re Shakespeare, quickly working his way through a week’s worth of deals. If he looked up, he would probably find Sam and Dean sharing pointed glances, but he finds the diner’s choice to serve Pepsi over Coke more interesting at the moment. 

He feels Dean move next to him. The booth is cramped, so even though Dean attempts to put miles of distance between them, Cas can still count his breaths and feel the tension in his legs. 

Dean inhales. 

Castiel dares to look up from his menu and finds both of the boys finally looking away. Sam is staring into the bottom of his mug like it will tell him his future, and Dean is finishing tearing up his straw wrapper. Usually, if tonight was any ordinary night, Dean would scrunch the wrapper up and pour a bit of his drink on it. The paper would expand and inch towards Cas like a worm; Sam would roll his eyes at them and say something like _It wasn’t even funny when we were kids, Dean,_ or _Cas only laughs out of pity, Dean._ Only tonight, Sam is not rolling his eyes and Dean has torn the wrapper to shreds, leaving the pieces in a pile in front of him. 

The silence becomes unbearable and Cas’s skin begins to itch from discomfort. He knows that it hasn’t even been a few minutes, but he wonders when their waitress is going to come back because maybe then someone will speak. Dean will flirt and smile at her as she takes his mug and Castiel will be fine with it because at least he will be smiling. All he wants is someone to say _something_ because he doesn’t know if he can take it much longer. 

Dean exhales. 

“I’m not your boyfriend, Cas,” Dean mutters. His words cut through the silence like a knife: sharp and aggressive. Castiel whips his head around with so much force that he’s pretty sure he hears something pop, and he sees Sam out of the corner of his eye doing the same motion. It is all very dramatic, but Cas does not care because Dean won’t even _look_ at him. 

Castiel continues to stare. “Dean, I’m sorry. I-”

“Drop it, okay? Just don’t say it again,” Dean gruffs, still looking at everything but the man sitting next to him. And Cas does drop it; the authority of Dean’s voice leaving him too scared to speak. 

When the waitress comes with their food, Castiel pointedly does not scoot his plate closer to Dean’s. He does not remove the excess lettuce on his burger because _If I wanted to eat this much green shit I would just order a salad, Cas._ No, Castiel leaves the lettuce on and he eats everything on his plate, even though the fries are too salty and the burger bun is too soggy from all the grease. He leaves the diner in pain, and he isn’t sure if it’s from all the food or Dean’s words punching him in the gut. 

* * *

The Bunker seems louder than ever now that it doesn’t have the chaos of three men drowning the hum of electricity out. Castiel doesn’t hear from the other two for days; Dean hasn’t left his room and Sam seems to only move between the library and kitchen. Cas finds solace in the movie room, it being long since it was just the Dean-cave. When his stay at the Bunker started to become a permanent thing, he didn’t know what to do at night. He tried relaxing in his room, but his room was just a place to set his duffel down in between hunts and staring at blank walls was more anxiety-inducing than anything else. Eventually, he succumbed to just walking the halls, waiting until sunrise for one of the brothers to wake up. This lasted for a while until Dean bumped into him one night and almost shot him. ( _I thought you were some ghost, Cas. I think I got the idea when you tried to shoot me, Dean.)_

Dean had set him up in one of the recliners and taught him how to use the SmartTV. He told Cas that he could drink from the bar as long as he left a few beers, and he even let Cas bring in some books from the library to read. It was a great idea in theory, but there was a small problem: Dean Winchester is an undiagnosed insomniac who also needed somewhere to go in the middle of the night. Slowly, the room turned from a Dean-cave to a Cas-Cave to a Cas-and-Dean-cave. He would occupy the recliner adjacent to Cas and immediately turn the channel. They would never talk about anything serious; just watch whatever was on until Dean fell asleep, but it was always good and easy because it was _them_. 

_“Cas, are you seriously watching Full House?”_

_“It’s two in the morning and I got tired of watching_ _infomercials_ _._ _Sorry if my choice in television is offending you.”_

_“It’s not just offensive, Cas. We’re going to have to get rid of the TV now. I can’t have people thinking I fall asleep listening to freakin’ Danny Tanner.”_

_“He does trouble me. The show fails to explain how he and the others are able to afford property in San Fransisco. Even if it was 1980, I don’t see how they sustained the monthly mortgage.”_

_“It’s a sitcom; they’re just using a little bit of Hollywood magic. A local news anchor is a multi-millionaire and somehow Kimmy Gibbler made it eight seasons without getting shot in the face. You just gotta suspend a little disbelief.”_

These past few days, Cas hasn’t turned his head to look at the chair next to him. He hasn’t gotten two beers out of the fridge, putting one on the table expectantly. He hasn’t even stayed on a single channel for more than a few minutes - too scared that his brain will catch up to the fact that Dean is not there to provide a running commentary. 

He hears footsteps on day four. 

The TV was put on mute a while ago; the sound of some late-night talk show host silenced in favor of a book he randomly picked from his collection. The weight feels good in his hands and the page-turning gives him a sense of purpose, so even though he’s not particularly interested in _The Ethics of Slavic Magic: Volos and Beyond,_ he absorbs every word. He’s about halfway through when he hears them: flat feet that hit the floor hard as they approach. Castiel doesn’t have to turn around to know who is coming; he’s heard him round the corner enough times that the noise doesn’t provide anything but comfort. He carefully folds the corner of the page he’s on and lets the sound of footsteps lull him into an idyllic daze. Cas has never heard them in this context before; the quiet pounding on the Bunker’s floor has always preluded to a quiet, relaxed evening. It’s almost enough to distract him - almost enough that for a second he believes that Dean is coming in for nothing more than to watch Jimmy Fallon. 

The clanking of beer bottles snaps him out of it. 

Castiel can hear him getting closer, but doesn’t look up. Dean circles the back of the recliners and Cas can hear the soft groans of the chair as he settles in. He still can’t force himself to look away from his lap, choosing to pull on the loose thread coming from his slacks instead. He is about to finally snap the strand off when something brown clouds his vision. He finally looks up to find Dean’s arm outstretched, beer in hand. 

“I think it’s time to restock. Running low in the fridge.” He motions for Cas to take the bottle. The beer is cool to the touch, sweat slowly forming on the outside of the bottle. Cas wipes the moisture away from his hands and gets a good look at Dean. He’s wearing his pajamas: a pair of black sweatpants and his favorite grey robe. Despite his choice in clothing, it is obvious that Dean hasn’t been sleeping. His eyes are forming shadows underneath and his hair is going in every direction - probably pulling it due to stress. It’s worrying and Castiel feels an overwhelming sense of guilt because _he’s_ the one that did this. Dean doesn’t get much sleep on a good night - too worried about the world to let himself have a goodnight’s rest. Except Dean isn’t worried about the world right now; he’s worried about Cas. He’s worried because Castiel somehow forgot to control his feelings, and now his body is taking the hit. 

He takes his first sip of beer. 

“I’ve been busy,” Cas replies, not finding anything else to say. He can see the corners of Dean’s mouth turn up at that, but he doesn’t respond. They lull into silence; both of them too wrapped up in their own heads for it to be considered awkward. 

Cas doesn’t know if it’s because of the book he has been reading, but he wonders if the beer is some sort of peace offering. Dean would choose a Budweiser over an olive branch, and it’s almost like the symbolism is right there, begging Cas to read in between the lines. Except, Castiel knows Dean Winchester and he knows how unpredictable he can be. Dean _feels_ things whether he likes it or not. He feels things hard and he feels them fast - letting his emotions consume his entire being. Managing this intensity is difficult, and it causes his feelings to manifest in frequent outbursts of love and hate. So Castiel can debate if a beer is just a beer or if it’s a _beer_ , but the truth is, he’ll never know unless Dean tells him. 

“What are you watching?” Dean finally asks. It’s an unnecessary question; the host has the title _Tonight Show_ plastered multiple times on the screen. Cas knows it’s a thin attempt at avoiding the obvious, but he appreciates Dean’s efforts because it’s miles more than he is doing at the moment. 

“I’m not really watching it. You can cha-” 

“Why’d you say it?” Dean blurts out, completely interrupting Cas’s reply. His eyes go wide with shock, like his own mouth had just betrayed him. He probably fully intended on keeping the small talk going for a little while, but they both knew they were going to have this conversation at some point. So they were doing it. Now. 

Castiel had days to practice what he was going say. He played out the trial in his head. Castiel would get on the metaphorical stand and plea: state his apology and request forgiveness. He fully intended to grovel - tell Dean that he didn’t mean it and that he isn’t sure where the words came from. He wanted to pull from his earlier defense - sprinkle in some excuses of exhaustion and temporary misjudgment. He was even prepared to call Sam to the stand as a character witness. He practiced the situation so many times in his head that in the case, _Castiel vs. The Incident in Saint Paul_ , he knew what he needed to do to be charged not-guilty. 

But looking at Dean, he knows he can’t lie. 

He grips the neck of his bottle and turns towards Dean. Cas doesn’t want his words to be misconstrued; he wants to be clear and he wants Dean to _see_ him. He angles his body so that he becomes unavoidable; Dean would have to turn completely around in his chair to ignore him. The position is kind of awkward: turned sideways in the recliner with one foot planted on the ground and the other curled up in the seat, but it grabs Dean’s attention. 

“I think you know why I said it.” He keeps his voice soft and his delivery even. The last thing he wants is for Dean to think that he’s playing with him, or that he’s keeping his words vague to avoid further conversation. He throws the statement out gently, soft enough that Dean can easily pick it up and decide how to proceed. This conversation needs to be on Dean’s terms, but the way Dean flinches when Castiel finishes makes him think that it might not turn out that way. 

“What does that even _mean_ , Cas?” Dean splutters. He’s looking at him in disbelief, his hands motioning so violently that Cas is worried that the beer is going to start splashing out of the bottle. 

“ _Dean_.” That’s all Cas manages to get out. His face softens; he smooths out the wrinkles on his forehead and he scrunches his eyes in a way that begs Dean to understand. Because Cas knows that Dean _knows_. Dean might not want to acknowledge it, but he isn’t dumb and he isn’t blind. They’re two players who both know exactly how to win, but neither of them moves so the game never progresses. 

Dean takes another swig from his beer, eyes dropping back down to his lap. “So that’s it, huh? What am I supposed to do with that?” His voice gets lower as he speaks, almost like it’s painful just to get the words out. Castiel goes to interject, but Dean isn’t finished, “What the hell do you even want from _me_?” 

The words destroy any confidence Castiel had going into this conversation. 

“Dean, look at me, okay?” Dean slowly lifts his head back up and his eyes make their way towards Cas’s. Dean might be a Winchester; he might have been raised to kill and he might have the best right-hook that Cas has ever seen, but he still gets scared. He isn’t scared of monsters; he could exorcise a demon and put a couple of silver bullets away in his sleep. No, Dean’s fears run deep, so hidden away that sometimes Castiel forgets they’re there. Only tonight, Dean wears his fear on his skin and Cas is reminded how truly _scared_ Dean is of change. Change means abandonment; change means disruption to the routine he has worked so hard to establish. Castiel’s impulsiveness has thrown things off balance, leaving Dean afraid and almost child-like. 

Once he’s sure he has Dean’s attention, Castiel starts again. “I don’t require anything from you. Okay? It’s wasn’t my attention to make things difficult or to scare you. You are not obligated to react to what I said, but I don’t see the point in pretending because we both know this has been going on for a while.” 

“We both _know_? Don’t see the _point_? Of course there’s a _fucking_ point, Cas!” Dean starts to raise his voice, “Let’s say I did know; what did you expect me to do? Move on? Go on hunts? Pretend that you’re not in the backseat planning our freakin’ wedding, or whatever?” 

And he knows Dean has a right to mad. Hell, he would be worried if Dean wasn’t starting to scream at him already. That doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt. 

“Well, that is kind of the Winchester way,” Cas replies sarcastically. He’s hoping that Dean can’t see through him - see that he’s using humor to cover-up the fact that Dean’s words are starting to get to him. He probably notices anyway. 

“You _so_ do not get to make jokes right now, Cas. I’m fucking lost, okay? I haven’t been sleeping and I know it’s not supposed to be a big deal, but it _is_ and I don’t know what to do.” 

“I don’t know what you want me to say. That I’m _sorry_? Dean, I’m sorry that this is causing you so much distress, but I can’t apologize for saying it. I’m done lying to you.” 

“That’s the thing, Cas. You haven’t even _said_ it. So you wanna be my boyfriend? Do you even know what that means? Do you want me to take you to the prom? Do you want to open up a freakin’ B&B? There’s a lot of shit there, Cas, and you know we can’t do any of it.” 

“Dean, I understand that this is difficult, but I would appreciate it if you stopped trying to undermine my feelings.” 

“I’m not trying to undermine anything. Look - I’ve played this shit out in my head for days. For _days_. I’ve thought of every single possible scenario and guess what, they all end the exact same way. They don’t fucking work. So I’m not trying to be a dick here, Cas. I’m just telling you the truth.” 

Castiel’s tolerance is wearing thin. He knows that when they started this conversation that things might turn ugly. He thought that it might get physical: a few punches to the face that Cas wouldn’t return. What he didn’t expect was the stream of _lies_ that just came out Dean’s mouth. Dean is erasing their past to suit his narrative, trying to make himself seem like the practical one. Nothing about this situation calls for practicality and it hurts so much worse than any hit Dean could throw at him. He’s sick of it. 

“That’s the biggest load of _bullshit_ that I ever heard.”

“Wha-” 

“No, you listen to me, Dean Winchester. I rebelled for you; we’ve fought side by side. We’ve beaten the Devil himself, crawled out of purgatory, and even saved each other from _ourselves_. We did all this with the odds against us - doubt only making us stronger. So don’t sit here and tell me that fate is making you act this way because we both know that isn’t true. Fate is nothing but a blueprint, and you can rollover ideas in your head all you want, but you know that it doesn’t mean anything. Stop giving me these thinly veiled excuses, and just _admit_ that you don’t want to try.” 

Castiel is practically heaving by the time he’s finished. Dean looks at him in shock, too stunned to speak. It’s been a while since that level of his aggression was directed towards Dean, and Cas has a ringing sound in his hear that he doesn’t know whose yelling caused. 

“I never said I don’t want to try, Cas. I just don’t know _how_ to. You know me, man. I fuck things up; it’s what I do. And if this were to ever happen,” Dean motions between the two of them. “I would just fuck that up too and then I would have nothing left. You and Sammy are all I got and I can’t afford to go and lose you again because I don’t know if I’ll ever come back from that.” 

“Dean,” Cas’s voice has returned to a normal volume; Dean’s words taking the bite out of his bark. “I meant what I said about you not owing me anything. If you believe that it is in your best interest to not pursue this, then that is also what I want. I’ve only ever wanted what was best for you. But if this is another self-sacrificial attempt to save something that’s not broken, then I’m telling you that it’s ridiculous. This is your decision, but you shouldn’t let your fears dictate your future. You know that better than anyone.” 

Dean sets his beer down on the table and tries to scoot further back in his seat. Cas’s words seem to have an effect on him, closing his eyes to let them sink in. Castiel just watches him, trying to create a mental image of every last inch of Dean Winchester. He makes note of the way Dean’s stomach contracts as he takes slow, steady breaths. He makes sure that he gets Dean’s fingers just right: his pinky pointed inwards as he grips the arms of the recliner. He even notes that Dean’s eyebrows are slightly darker than his hair: more brown than dark-blond. Cas does this because this might be the last time he gets a good look. Dean might decide that he’s had enough, walk out of the room without turning back, leaving Cas to catch quick glances as they pass each other in the Bunker. (Or he might decide that he doesn’t want Cas around at all, but that thought is too terrifying to even process.) 

Cas is busy mapping out the position of Dean’s freckles when he finally opens his eyes. Dean starts by taking a deep breath, and Cas notices that his grip on the chair has loosened just a little bit. “If we were to do this, and I mean _if_ , how would we even go about it? I mean, you can’t even call me your boyfriend without me going panic-mode. What’s gonna happen when we start moving onto bigger stuff?” Dean asks. 

Castiel can’t help the smile that forms on his face. “If you don’t want to be called my boyfriend, then I won’t call you my boyfriend, Dean. It’s as simple as that.” 

“It’s not even like _that_ , you know? Like, I’m fine with you _being you_ ,” He starts motioning towards Castiel’s body and he’s pretty sure he gets what Dean is trying to say. “I mean, damn, I figured all that out a long time ago. It’s just that - I mean, I know what people think when the word “boyfriend” starts being thrown around. They start assigning us this fake history and suddenly, in their minds, we own a three-bedroom condo and a Shih-Tzu named Pesto,” he starts to throw his hands up in defense, continuing his ramble, “And not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s just not _us_ , you know? I know it’s dumb, but I feel like it downplays everything you’ve ever done for me. Like what the fuck do I even call someone who literally pulled me out of hell?” 

His cheeks are tinged pink when he finishes his thought. It’s rare that Cas gets to see him like this; Dean is usually so guarded. He never lets himself say what’s on his mind, always so careful to save face in front of the ones he loves. But tonight, the words are starting to flow freely from Dean’s tongue and Castiel has never felt more adoration for the man sitting next to him. 

“I’m sorry that the English language hasn’t evolved around our complex history, Dean.” This earns Castiel an honest to god laugh. And it isn’t anything special; Castiel has heard similar ones a thousand times before, but in this moment, it’s one of the best things he’s ever heard. The simple sound eases any of the residual tension Castiel had left in his body and only makes his smile grow bigger. So even though it’s nothing special, he still thinks it might rank in the _Top 100 Dean Winchester Laughs_ he has cataloged in the back of his brain. 

“Cas, would you _shut up_. I’m trying to be serious,” Dean says, but he’s still laughing. 

He decides to take advantage of Dean’s sudden change in mood and continue his previous thought. “You know there are no rules to this, right? There’s no book to guide us on this; we have to be the ones to decide for ourselves. So if that means you just want to sit in these chairs for the rest of eternity, then that’s _fine_ because we’re both okay with it. It doesn’t matter what Diane or anyone else assumes because they’ll never be able to fathom what we’ve been through. And it’s okay that they don’t know because _we know_ , Dean. We know what we’ve done to get to this point and so does everyone else that you love. And they just want you to be happy, so if _this_ is what makes you happy, no one is going to give it a second glance.” 

He’s basically out of his seat at this point, hoping that the lack of distance will make Dean truly believe what he is saying. Dean seems to mull his words around a little, but less seriously and for a shorter amount of time than before. 

“Okay.” 

Castiel thinks he mishears him. He was expecting another argument - already going through possible rebuttals in his head. The simple, one-word response was so far out of left field that he has to replay the moment in his head. And then he replays it again just to make sure. 

_“Okay?”_ Cas asks, incredulously. His eyebrows start to scrunch up and he is looking at Dean as though he’s speaking a language that Cas doesn’t understand. (Which is hard considering that Cas knows the entire language-tree like the back of his hand, but Dean Winchester is full of surprises.) 

“Yeah, I said okay,” He fishes for the remote that Castiel had previously placed on the table. “I’m willing to give this a shot if you are.” Dean’s finger hovers over the channel button as he waits for Cas’s response. 

“I would like that,” he replies. 

The sudden sound of the television fills the room. They end up watching an old _Seinfeld_ re-run; their conversation ending at the point of the night where there’s nothing else on. They don’t talk about it for the rest of the night - Cas is sure one of their heads might explode if they did. He knows that they still have so much to unpack between them, and he isn’t trying to avoid it. It’s just that Dean is asleep next to him and the Bunker doesn’t seem so loud anymore, so he can’t find it in him to care. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! 
> 
> This is the first thing I've written for fun since like 8th grade, but I literally had so much fun doing this. If you have any comments/constructive criticism please let me know because I know some of y'all have like doctorates in English omg. I have so many ideas for fics (and a lot of time, thanks COVID-19) and I really want to improve my writing, so your help would be appreciated. 
> 
> Thanks again.


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